


Fog and Ice

by silveryink



Series: The Tales of Lee Scoresby [4]
Category: His Dark Materials (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 7: The Fight to the Death, Gen, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryink/pseuds/silveryink
Summary: In the dark, everything seems a lot worse than it is. Come morning, and an old friend to help you on your way: Lee is offered a choice that he couldn't ever refuse.
Series: The Tales of Lee Scoresby [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572472
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	Fog and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Northern Lights

The balloon shuddered violently, nearly tossing Lee over the edge. Iorek spotted his loss of balance from his precarious position – half hanging out in a failed attempt to catch Lyra – and grabbed the back of his jacket, hauling him to safety. Another surge of turbulence dislodged Lee from Iorek’s grip, sending him flying into the altimeter. His left shoulder slammed into an errant lever and he let out a strangled groan at the jagged bolt of pain that shot through his arm from his old bullet wound.

By the time Lee blinked the stars from his eyes, he noticed that he and Hester were alone in the balloon. His stomach lurched in fear. “ _Iorek!”_

He scrambled towards the loose panel, looking for a sign of his friend’s survival. And the absence of others meant that the kid, Roger was missing too. Guilt sent him reeling for a moment before Hester snapped, “Lee, the panel!”

Of course, think about the next thing he could fix. He grabbed the anchor and tossed it over the edge of the panel, allowing the rope to snap taut as it caught over the metal with a screech that made him wince. He ignored the biting cold, the pain in his arm, the ache in his heart, and pulled hard. Luckily, the balloon rocked back and eased the process, though it sent Lee falling back against the fur-coated floor with a grunt. He stumbled towards the panel and bolted it shut.

They entered the eye of the storm, and Lee leaned out over the basket as he looked for Iorek. His eyes stung, from tears or the cold he didn’t know, and he shouted into the silence once more. “ _Lyra! Iorek! Roger!”_

A piece of tarpaulin flew, rough and stinging, right into his face. He recoiled with a cry, feeling the ache in his shoulder return with it. “Hester,” he croaked, sinking to the floor. His beloved dæmon was there for him, as she always was, even when she didn’t exactly approve of his decisions. This was something that went well past the sacred bond between a human and their soul, this was what true partnership was, unbreakable and firm as sky-metal from the love that had been part of it since its beginning.

Hester said nothing for once. There was nothing she could have said, because she felt the same Aurora of exhaustion and grief as he did. She did look up at him with her bright golden eyes, though, and said, in a voice full of concern, “Lee, you’re bleeding.”

He met her gaze with a glassy one of his own. “Pass me that cloth,” he said shortly. She did, and he pressed it to his forehead. That was where the tarpaulin had struck him. She stayed close to him, offering physical comfort as they waited out their passage from the eye of the storm. Lee stroked her fur absently, slipping into a timeless haze of grief and guilt. He should have taken better care of Lyra, he should have kept Iorek safe, should’ve ensured that Roger was not in any danger.

Logically, he knew that he couldn’t have predicted the storm or the cliff-ghast attack, and he _had_ fought off those creatures entirely. That didn’t stop him from thinking of Lyra’s fall, she must have felt so _cold_ and there was no way she would have survived a night this far North, even if she had survived the fall somehow. Her furs were of the highest quality, but even they would not keep out the cold for so long.

He inhaled raggedly and pressed his palms to his eyes. The gas-engine sputtered a bit, and his head shot up in alarm. _No, this couldn’t be happening now._ The gas valve spun loose, and they dropped. Lee swore and shot to his feet, barely holding on to the rail as they crashed into a cliff.

He ducked and curled into himself – Hester close to his chest, safe from any debris – and waited for the impact to hit. It jarred his balance heavily, and once everything settled, he was shaky on his feet as a new-born foal.

“Wish I had some bloodmoss,” he muttered. The cut on his forehead stung a bit, but at least it had stopped bleeding. Hester hopped out of his arms outside the balloon, and Lee surveyed the damage before them. It was no good trying to fix it in the dark, he decided, after abandoning his effort to find the small anbaric torch he always had on him. He staggered out and slipped into a small nook between snow-covered rocks that could protect him from direct breeze. He pulled his coat closer around him, protecting his and Hester’s warmth, and slept.

In the morning, when Lee woke, he felt slightly better, and decided to salvage the balloon, which soon proved to be beyond his ability. He swore loudly and tossed a dented part over his shoulder. And another.

And another.

“Hey!”

He ignored Hester’s indignant cry, though he sent an apology in her way. He started to hum an old melancholic tune he remembered – from where, though, he had no idea. He started going off-key at some point, of that he was sure, but he frankly couldn’t care less, so long as it took his mind off the looming predicament he found himself in.

“I’m not sure I like that song anymore,” Hester said dryly.

“I have to sing when I’m nervous, you know that,” he replied flatly, gingerly stepping over the overturned basket. “Think she’s busted?”

“Of course not,” she said calmly, “we just need to get out of here so someone can take a look at her.”

“And how do you suppose you do that?” The ordeal of the previous day caught up to him again, and anger surged within him. “She’s our only means of travel!” The last word was a shout, punctuated by the clang of machinery he tossed aside bitterly.

He exhaled, getting himself in control again. Now, what the hell was throwing a tantrum supposed to do for him?

“Maybe I can be of some assistance,” said Serafina. He swiveled around.

“When did you – I didn’t-” he stumbled over his next words, completely flummoxed by her appearance. “I didn’t expect-”

She interrupted him rather kindly. “One of my sisters managed to track your movements. You’re important to us, Mr. Scoresby.”

Damn, there it was again, the reminder of the abysmal turn of events last night. “But I failed you,” he said in a small voice. A lump formed in his throat as he added, “and her.”

He looked up at Serafina, his vision glassy with barely held-back tears. “I lost Lyra.”

“You didn’t fail me in the slightest,” the witch-queen said gently. “Or her. You fought for her, and now her fate is in another’s hands.”

His heart flipped. It might have missed a beat, in light of this new information. “She’s alive?” Then he remembered, he’d had other passengers too. “And Roger and Iorek.”

“Kaisa brings word that they all live, and all thrive.”

The tension he hadn’t known he’d held left him in a single exhale of relief. But that wasn’t the end of it, no, quite far from it.

“Iorek, with Lyra’s help, has reclaimed the throne of Svalbard.”

He burst into slightly hysterical laughter. “Yes!” He thought his heart would burst with pride. He glanced at Hester.

“Well, isn’t that something?” He whooped with joy, stopping himself in the nick of time as he remembered that last night’s storm might well have left him in danger of an avalanche.

“I believe this is yours,” she said solemnly, and handed over his revolver to him. He stared at it in disbelief and back at her.

“Where did you – how did – _oh_.” Of course they’d need him to fight again.

“The battles are just beginning. The great War is coming soon-”

“A’right, no more fancy talk,” Lee cut her off, never quite comfortable with the mystical, obscure ways of prophecies. It was the only thing that reminded Lee that his old acquaintance was not entirely human. “I’m just a hustler, I played my part.”

Which might have been more convincing if it hadn’t been an utter lie. Serafina knew as well as he did that he would have torn apart the world to protect Lyra, even though he wasn’t sure where this sudden fatherly instinct had come from. And yet, he persisted.

“I was useful for a piece, but… I’m no use to you now.”

She laid a hand on his heart, though her expression held a certain amount of disbelief at his words. “You’re wrong. And it’s Lyra who will need you.”

“So this is still about fate.”

“Of course it is.”

“ _She_ needs me.”

Serafina met his gaze with empathy. “She needs all of us,” she said.

With that, Lee had already made up his mind. “Then I hope I’m strong enough.” He slid the revolver into the holster at his hip, and energy coursed through him. Well, he wouldn’t be able to visit Lyra after this, he had no idea where she was headed now, but he could assure her protection some way…

Serafina was watching him carefully. When he pointed this out, she only said, in an echo of a conversation from years ago when they’d first met, “In all the time I have lived, Mr. Scoresby, I must confess I have never met another man like yourself.”

The contexts might be vastly different, but he thought it was just as ridiculous a thing to say now as it was then. Sure, he might have made a choice not many others would have, but it seemed right to do so. Still, he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that someone else in his position might not give his dominant arm to protect a wonderful child like Lyra. He did know a few people up North who looked out for themselves first, and found himself wondering if what Serafina had just said really made sense.

Anyway, he had a job to do. For once, since choosing to be an aeronaut, a job of his heart: to protect Lyra.


End file.
